


Motives

by PrettyMessedUpSituation (MarcelinesNightosphere)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Backstory, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Wall Sex, past sex for money
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelinesNightosphere/pseuds/PrettyMessedUpSituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds his way into his motel room in Atlantic City while Sam is killing at poker, but is woken up by an unexpected guest breaking into their room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mnwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnwood/gifts).



> After S3E06, Red Sky at Morning - an interesting flip on [another fic I wrote](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3602853) following that episode.

The key wasn’t working. He pushed it in slowly for the fourth time, trying to feel the tumblers unlock as he gently lifted, shifted, and turned.

“Finally!” he yelled when the bolt slid and door swung open into the empty room. Shadows passed across the beige walls and turquoise carpet flecked with an off-putting maroon that matched the curtains bolted to the wall. He didn’t take too much notice of motel room decor anymore - and much more importantly, there was a bed.

Dean fell onto his mattress face-first and laid there for a moment, letting his body relax. He let out a groan and tilted his head to the side, his eyes drifting drunkenly to the empty bed that was supposed to be occupied by his brother - who, despite scoffing at Dean when the subject of Atlantic City was brought up, found himself kicking ass and pissing off the house at a poker table with a waitress smiling his way and blushing every time he caught her. Dean was sure his brother was in good hands, taking a deep breath in, letting it out as he drifted off to sleep.

He woke with a start at a quarter after midnight when the lock clicked and the door handle started to turn. Dean jumped up from the bed quietly, pulled his gun, and pressed his back against the wall around the corner from the door. Someone stepped through, too small and quiet to be Sam. He waited, and as soon as the figure stepped around the corner he jammed the barrel of the gun into the base of their jaw and pushed forward, slamming them into the wall.

“Jesus, Dean!” she screeched. “It’s just me!”

“Bela?” he asked, not relaxing his grip. “The fuck do you want? How d’you fi - nevermind.”

She stared into his eyes, unflinching. Her lips spread across her face into a tight smile. “Do you want to get that gun away from my throat or are we just going to stand here with you trying desperately to look menacing? Where’s Sam?” she asked, looking around the dark room, annoyingly unconcerned about the weapon pressed to her skin by the still slightly-drunk Winchester.

“Out.” Dean finally relaxed and let Bela go. She straightened her jacket and shirt and Dean put the gun away. “Why the hell are you breaking into our motel room?”

“No reason.”

Dean scoffed. “With you there’s always a reason.”

Bela smiled. “You can’t expect me to show all my cards.”

He was not amused. “You can’t expect me to fall asleep knowing that you’re in the same city.”

“Dean. You can trust me.” Bela recognized the disbelief in his face and the ridiculousness of her suggestion. She put her hands up. “Look - no weapons, and I'm not looking to steal anything. If you remember, I just gave you ten grand.”

“So, what? ‘Just kidding, I’m just as big of a bitch as you thought, give it back’?”

“I have business in town and had a feeling I might be able to find you two. Good job on actually locking the door, by the way.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Find us for what?”

“To see if I could get your help.” Bela crossed her arms. “You boys work with me on a job, earn yourselves another ten grand easy. Each.”

“I don’t think so.”

Bela moved to Dean’s bag sitting on a chair and pulled out his flask. “That works out to be a _lot_ of one-on-one time with a _lot_ of strippers.”

He thought about it for a minute. “Even though that sounds pretty tempting, the thought of working with you makes me feel like I need to burn a layer of skin off in a hot shower. It feels dirty. Like selling myself for money.”

Bela laughed softly and moved closer. “Familiar with that, aren’t you?”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Oooh, struck a nerve there. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” she said before taking a long swig of whiskey. “But I’m curious - what _does_ one have to do for a tank of gas?”

Dean slammed her back into the wall hard enough for the wall sconce to shake and held her there. “You really want to fuck with me? Why don’t we talk about all the shit you’ve done in your life?”

Bela smiled maliciously. “You reek of whiskey.”

“You...reek of….” Dean trailed off, unable to think of anything she smelled of besides lilacs.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bela said.

Dean pressed his forearm against her body, leaning his body weight across her collarbone. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. His fist tightened around the collar of her jacket. He was vibrating with rage.

“Are you going to hurt me?” she asked. There was no fear in her voice; his reaction roused an honest interest out of her.

Dean’s breath was ragged. “No.”

“Pity.” Bela slowly pulled up Dean’s shirt with her free hand and unfastened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and slid her hand over him.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Dean asked in a whisper. He hated how much he wanted her to keep going. He pressed his forehead on the wall behind her as she started to stroke him.

Bela’s breath glanced off his skin as her lips brushed his ear. “If you let me go, you’ll find out.”

He slowly backed off and relaxed - but not for long. Bela pushed him backwards until he hit another wall and she dropped to her knees. Dean closed his eyes as they fluttered back. This was not how he had thought the night would go. He hated Bela. He _thought_ he hated Bela. Everything in him said he was supposed to hate Bela. But he didn’t. They were too much alike in ways he didn’t want to admit. _This bitch._ She got his car towed, called them serial killers, completely fucked them over again and again, and now she was...she was….

His fingers ripped through her hair and gripped it tight. Bela’s hands ran over his thigh and his stomach, her fingers digging into his skin. She never backed off, even when he started fucking her mouth - she just took him to her throat, letting him have his way. It was almost as if she was laughing at him, like there was no way he could one-up her on anything. With every act of roughness, she hit back with a new technique, something with her tongue that made him twitch, something with her movements that made him moan.

Dean gathered enough concentration to pull out of her mouth and jerked her up. He tore down her pants and picked her up, turned her against the wall and slammed her there a third time - only this time he yanked her black panties to the side and pushed into her. He moaned when he felt her around him. He fucked her against the wall, the sconce shaking as the rhythmic rebounding of her body continued. Dean came close to kissing her, but didn’t - he dragged his bottom lip against her cheek as he breathed heavily, grunting as he thrust into her. Kissing implied intimacy; this was hate-fucking.

Bela laughed and raised her knees. She gripped Dean’s soft, muscled body with her legs, loving every bit of his thick cock that he forced into her. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she held on as she contemplated what she could say to instigate more anger - or she tried to. Her brain couldn’t come up with anything witty - she was already on the edge of orgasm, just one of many. She relaxed and laughed again which pushed Dean to fuck her harder. His hand ripped through her hair and snatched her head back so he could access her entire neck with his teeth. She washed over him as she came, a strong rolling orgasm flowing through her body. As soon as it was over, she wanted more.

She leaned forward and whispered into Dean’s ear, “On the table.”

Dean moved the two of them. He placed Bela on the table in manner that was anything but gentle. He leaned forward and braced both the table and himself on the wall, driving into Bela again. Looking down at her, he tore at her shirt. The buttons popped off as he did, and pulled her breasts out of her bra. He watched as they bounced along with his thrusts and found himself swelling inside of her. He slowed down and held her thigh as he leaned forward, his tempo completely changed. Leaning over her, Dean buried his face in her breasts, breathing onto her skin as he rolled his hips toward her. He covered her mouth when she moaned and her hands reached out for him. He mouthed the side of her exposed breast and bit it, sinking his teeth in hard enough to get a muffled squeal. He felt her come again. This time her walls tightened around him in waves, massaging his cock.

Wanting to push her over again, to watch her unravel beneath him, he pushed her knees to her chest and rocked her back enough to lift her hips. He built up from his slow pace and rocked her to the left and right, hitting all the angles he may have missed. Before she could come again, her eyes fluttering and laughter stopped, Dean pulled out of her, picked Bela up, and threw her onto the bed. She writhed on her stomach and pushed herself up on her hands and knees. Dean sidled up behind her. As he eased himself inside, he knew this position was going to do him in. He wanted her to be sore the next day, to slide into the seat of her car and wish she had an ice pack for her swollen cunt.

Gently, his hips still, Dean grasped Bela’s hip with one hand and wrapped her hair around his other. He pulled back as he thrust abruptly into her. Her hair still roped in his hand, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back onto him as he fucked forward, using her own body to pound harder into her. Dean moved faster, fucking her furiously. A hand landed on her ass with a stinging slap. Cupping his hand on her hip, he lifted her and pulled her closer. Drunkenness returned to him as he backed out of her and came, stroking himself as he finished onto her back. She slowly collapsed onto the bed on her stomach, and Dean fell next to her. In seconds, he was asleep.

Every time he opened his eyes, something was different; but he couldn’t seem to shake the hangover and need for sleep to put together what was happening. He heard a shower. He opened his eyes to see Bela in a towel and closed them again. He heard a car alarm in the parking lot. He heard the door open and close. He slept.

* * *

 

“What the fuck, Dean?!”

Sam’s voice ripped through Dean’s head like a screaming bright light. “What, Sam? Fuck! Can you not yell?”

“There’s a note here from Bela. God it smells like sex in here.” Sam paused. “Dean. You didn’t.”

Dean squinted the eye closest to the pillow shut and used all his strength to open the other. “Might’ve.”

“ _Dean_.”

“What’s the note say?”

“She says thanks, promised she didn’t steal anything, and left ten grand here...for gas?”

Dean’s head throbbed. “That bitch.”

“There’s a P.S. - ‘I’ll give back what I borrowed. Promise. Keep the money, take Sam to Disney World’? What the fuck happened?”

Dean sat up too quickly and groaned. He grabbed his head and confusedly asked, “What the fuck did she borrow?” He looked around the room, blinking, trying to wake up. He saw his bag where she pulled his flask from. “That fucking bitch,” he said as he jumped up out of bed and started going through his bag. Clothes, his flask, weapons…. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What? What did she take?”

“Dad’s journal. Dad’s _fucking_ goddamn journal is gone.” Dean snagged his phone from the nightstand and called Bela’s number, hoping it wasn’t a burner phone she’d ditched as soon as she left.

_“Hello?”_

“You crossed the line, Bela.”

_“With the money joke? It wasn’t too distasteful, I hope.”_

“No, not that. Well yes, that, but my dad’s journal? The most important thing to me and Sam that you stole for some fucking reason?”

 _“Borrowed,”_ she corrected.

Dean seethed. “Same fucking thing. Where is it?”

_“It’s right here in my passenger seat. Meet you in Florida in a week with the journal, completely intact and unharmed.”_

She sounded like she was telling the truth. “What are you doing with it?”

_“Just needed some information on a few things your father may have had some insight on. Nothing malicious, I promise.”_

Dean turned away from Sam. “You know you could have asked,” he said, his voice lowered.

_“Doubt that. You trust me as far as you can throw me. Which, by the way, maybe we could test just how far that is next time I see you. Next Friday. St. George Island. Bring that brother of yours.”_

Dean looked at the phone. She hung up. “What the fuck.”

“Um, hey, can I get a little information on what’s happening?” Sam asked.

“We’re going to Florida.” Dean rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. “I fucking hate that woman.”

“Are we...really going to Disney World?” Sam asked. “Because...that would be...kinda cool.”

Dean fell back on the bed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Let’s go to Disney World.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes Madd I said "thick" I can't go a single fic without mentioning Dean's girth I KNOW it's a problem.
> 
> Also if you don't know me, I want you to know that I love Bela so, so much and I only used bitch so often bc of canon use of it in reference to her and how frustrated Dean is - just in case you were going to jump on me for it, because some people take what authors write about as a representation of what they approve of, which is not at all the case. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you all have an excellent day and maybe even an orgasm.


End file.
